Homeward Way
by MignonneBodine
Summary: Tragedy has always followed the Butler family. Will Fate intervene?
1. Introduction

There are so many works of art on this particular fansite, I am hesitant to submit my own attempt. Please enjoy and review, if you would be so kind.

Homeward Way

1.

Rhett Butler's anger was unstoppable. He hardly saw the passing scenery from the train window. Images clouded his mind like a moving picture show. Unarmed, barefooted boys being shot down in front of him on a Tennessee farm. Shooting a man at point-blank range in the California goldfields. A tiny, petite woman battered to the ground with a smash of his father's powerful fist. His brother sniggering while he was tossed out on his ear. Rhett's knuckles were white on the armrest of his seat.

He had been bound for Jekyll Island, Georgia, having been on one of what had been many voyages around the country and beyond in search of something lost, forgotten, or otherwise misplaced: himself. At the very time he had reached the National Hotel in Atlanta for a brief respite, he had received the news of his brother's illness and imminent demise. Ross had planned to meet Rhett and his companions for a week long endeavor of hiking, fishing and other enjoyable pastimes befitting the pair, close friends that they had become, if only in the last few years.

Born in 1830, two years after Rhett, Ross had grown up in the shadow of the elder, who had become by the age of seventeen as great of a gambler, carouser, and scourge to the staid Charleston gentility that his name appeared regularly in the state papers - often heralding his triumphant victory in a dual concerning a quarrel of little import, but in all likelihood, it had involved a woman. "There has never been such a notorious boy in all the city, state, and country," railed their father, the Butler patriarch of good standing although he himself had been the product of a misalliance between a pirate lord and a French-Creole aristocrat. Again, he addressed the boys' mother, a petite, genteel aristocrat born and bred on the sweet sands of the Savannah shore, "he has impudently passed the part of gentleman and has become a great spoiler and leader of the most degenerate of boys in all the Academy, shaming your name and mine and blasting his way down a path of egregious perdition!" And then, just like that, the elder Butler dismissed his son Rhett from his presence for good, waiting another two years only before declaring that his name be blotted from the family Bible.

"Lest the Butler blood be tainted," the now senior man wheezed, his lungs filled with the humid summer air as his body was wracked with a coughing fit.

The train stopped.

He disembarked and hastily gave his instructions to the porter to direct his luggage to the nearest hotel. The spring rains had rendered the roads into Charleston nearly impassable – and he made the decision at the train station to take advantage of the better roads north of the city, then the ferry crossing to the south end of Dunmore Landing, his family's home.

Avoiding the nosy prattle of the citizenry on Broad Street during the day, he had returned to the city under the cover of darkness via a neglected byway, then angled his way through the Battery undetected, as very few lights shone down to illuminate passersby on the road. Local youngsters still lingered past midnight at Menell's place. The woman had been in business since he was in the first throes of manhood – and despite her reputation amongst the staid gentry of Charleston, Menell was a very gentle sort of madam. Her girls were clean and discreet, more suited for the tastes of young boys and very old men. There was an aura of respectability in her place – she banned the fiddle and cards and would dismiss any scoundrel who thought her establishment "that sort". The more seasoned guests might discover their mistake and leave, hoping for better things closer to port. Menell would just smile.

Rhett needed no signpost to point him toward Menell's unmarked, unassuming two-story house. By the time he turned the corner leading away from the Battery, the stars were disappearing and dawn was breaking.

Everything looks the same, he thought to himself, feeling keenly the knots in the pit of his stomach. It always looked the same.

The next day, Rhett found himself in the stern of the _Mermaid_, a small tug ferrying himself and four other passengers across the Ashley River to dockside of the west side of Dunmore Landing.

The inner reaches of the Ashley were riddled with hidden rocks, dotted with old smallish islands which could be exposed briefly and then submerged during a mighty hurricane from the Atlantic, and depending upon the wily river's current, so fierce that any skilled riverboat captain or sailor would think twice before attempting to tame it - but Rhett Butler knew it like the back of his hand. He and his brother both had grown up on this very river and for years had made the area his base for blockade running along the Southern coast. His fleet schooners and the Yankee frigates that pursued them were long gone, but ferries made the river crossing once a day from the city downriver. It was a briskly cold but sunny day, and the light of the midday sun was reflected in the choppy waves like tiny mirrors - and Rhett's eyes flashed as he looked down into the depths, thinking that that current was reflective of the very state of his wearied soul.

The boat's captain, an elderly Irish gentleman wearing a tweed-cap leaned over the rail next to Butler and heaved a sigh. "Hold your teeth now, son. T'won't be long now."

"It's not the water that ails me," Rhett retorted, although his delivery was polite. He then decided to confide in the man, whom he would most likely never see again after the ferry landed. "It's the fact that my nephew, a boy full of charm and promise and only seventeen has been dead and buried since this Christmas past and now my brother, who is not yet fifty, is about to do the same. My father cursed his own blood - now look where it's gotten him. The Butler line is spent."

The Irishman nodded in his direction. "Aye. It's understandin' I am. But have ye no children to your name?"

Rhett shook his head. "Not my blood."

The Irishman sighed. "A wife, then?"

Rhett rolled his eyes. "One I avoid whenever possible."

The Irishman smirked at that. "Aye. I do the same, son. But if it 'tis blood that you're frettin' o'er, perhaps you'd best make the time to see the old lady, eh?"

Butler stared out into the horizon. "I see the dock. Not long now."

Built in the final year of the eighteenth century, the great house of the Landing had been altered repeatedly by the successive generations of Butlers. Three full stories bracketed by great stone chimneys.

When he finally disembarked, his legs had stiffened, and pain shot up his spine as he stood straight up. Long strides carried him to the long avenue, framed by young trees planted in postbellum years by his brother, to replace those which had been destroyed by the warfare which had raged for four bloody years.

He entered through the side door to the kitchen and raced toward the parlor. His mother was standing in the doorway, looking haggard and ill and all of her seventy years.

"Thank God you're here, Rhett."

His voice was hoarse as he addressed her. "Is he?"

She shook her head.

His voice dropped to a whisper. "I was too late. I should have come straightaway."

She put out a hand. "No. He was gone yesterday morning. He never awoke from his slumber. I was with him in the end. Rosemary, too."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and grasped the back of the divan for balance. When he opened them again, he glimpsed his younger sister, huddled in an armchair at the opposite end of the room. Thirty-four years old an unmarried.

"Bless his poor heart," rasped Rosemary. "He was crying for Hughie and Barbara at his last."

He could feel his heart start to thud in his chest. Ross had felt his own losses keenly, understanding Rhett's misery and pain better than anyone else. When influenza had claimed the lives of Barbara and her unborn child the summer previous, Ross had depended utterly on Rhett for guidance and strength – and Rhett had been only too happy to come to his brother's aid. The hatchet between them had been long buried. When Rhett's own breaking point had been reached several years before, he had fled to Charleston, and Ross and his sweet young second wife and son had saved him in every way that a person could be saved.

"Remember when Barbara and Ross were married? What a splendid day that was." Rhett's mother was speaking aloud, perhaps to herself. " A spring wedding. March twenty-third. The whole world seemed to be mended anew. Even with Bonnie gone. And Scarlett was there, and the dear children. The black clouds had lifted, and anything seemed possible."

"You were wrong, weren't you, Mother?" Rosemary spat out.

Rhett drew a sharp breath.

"What are you going to do now, Rhett?" his mother asked.

Years of practice had taught him to keep a tight rein on his emotions, no matter how extreme.

"Bury Ross. Then I'm off."

"To Atlanta? Yes, Scarlett must be comforted by her husband – it is fitting that you-"

"Not Atlanta. New Orleans."

His mother's lips formed a thin red line.

"I see. I really would feel better if you remained here in Charleston for a time. For Rose and my protection, if nothing else. I am unused to being here alone without so much as one Butler man in the house."

He looked down at his tiny, thin mother. "I know of one you can have, aside from me."

"No." she said firmly. "No. Not in Charleston. Not now, not ever."

"Dillon is nearly seventeen. It's time that he be given some sort of place here. The last of the Butler blood is spent, Mama, and you know it. I will have no other children and Rosemary..."

His sister glared at him with her fierce golden eyes.

"Rosemary may yet prove me wrong. But not yet."

His mother shook her head again, not believing the insubordination could come from her eldest son at such a time, when his brother's body lay cold in the bed above them. "Wash your face first. Ask one of the servants to give you a proper shave, you look a fright. And have a cup of tea. Something to eat."

He nodded in mute acquiescence. "I'll leave the day after the funeral."

His mother enjoyed her brief victory, however small it was, but was forced to resign herself to the fact that Rhett intended to bring the boy – did he say that his name was Dillon – up to the Landing whether she was prepared to accept him or not.

"At the least," she said with great hesitation, "you should write to Scarlett. Send for Wade Hampton. At least your nominal stepson could appear at your side as well as your...foundling."

A muscle twitched in Rhett's jaw. He looked as if he'd like to retort something very rude, but thought better of it due to the gravity of the occasion. He settled for, "Yes, Mama. Yes, I'll send for Wade Hampton."


	2. Dillon

2. Dillon

A young black man lay snoring on his bed with his mouth agape; then awoke with a start as he heard his friend Dillon's voice from the doorway.

"I'm off to the station to meet Rhett, Nat. Want to come?"

Nat sat up and rubbed his eyes abruptly, then tilted his head upward to look into his friend's face. Jutting cheekbones and a hawkish nose; a wide mouth, and deep set hazel eyes. "Reckon I'll wait. Your old man'll probably be loaded down thick with luggage and I'lls be the one to carry it all."

Dillon laughed. "You don't know Rhett; he travels light. You might as well come with me. You hardly seem busy."

The pair walked along Bourbon Street past the three and four story brick and stucco buildings that were the city's hallmark. As they rounded the corner toward the depot, Nat remarked, "You ain't said nothing since we left the house, Dillon. Come to think, you ain't said much for a few days now. Something gwine on with your old man?"

Dillon responded with a noncommittal grunt.

Nat chortled. "Told you."

Another grunt and shrug of his broad shoulders.

"Surprised he's a-comin' after all these years?"

"A bit surprised," Dillon spoke finally. "One day we were barely civil to each other, and the next day he sends me a wire that he's coming to take me to Charleston, to stay with my _kin_. And I have no idea why. I don't know if it's something he planned to do all the while or if it was a sudden impulse." He let out a small sigh, "I wish I understood him better, Nat."

It was Nat's turn to grunt, knowing better than to scratch the surface of Dillon Butler. His fair-haired friend had been a puzzle to Nat since they were boys, growing up in the Bienville House on the French Quarter. Rhett Butler's visits were sparse, but they promised extravagant presents of sweets and new clothes, books, and a pocketknife with real mother-of-pearl for Dillon that -as most of the presents- had been re-gifted to Nat.

In the last year, the two young men had saved enough of their own money – Dillon from writing stories for the local paper and Nat from cooking in the Bienville – to afford a room in a respectable boarding house.

But Dillon had never told Nat the truth about his origins, allowing his friend to assume, as most people did, that Rhett was his father because of their shared surname. In New Orleans, this was not uncommon, as many young men and women could count themselves as products of a short lived affair between a wealthy man and a prostitute.

In this case, it was untrue.

Dillon's father was Jasper Dillon. His mother Belle had never married Jasper Dillon – nor anyone else. As a young woman of no great parentage nor prospects growing up in Charleston, Belle had made a respectable living at the home of a woman called Menell. When she found herself pregnant by a regular customer, she had taken a job further south, in Georgia. If she had remained in the staid old city, her child would have been taken away from her by Menell and given to the Church as soon as it was born, to be raised in an Orphan's Home or given away to strangers.

Dillon had escaped this fate due to his mother's friendship with Rhett Butler – which would not have been possible had Rhett not shot the bullet which ended Jasper Dillon's life. All over a petty quarrel regarding the lateness of the hour in which Rhett had taken Dillon's sister riding.

Defying social convention, Belle had raised her son largely on her own, although she had allowed Rhett to fund his education. She did not tell Dillon the true story of his paternity until the year previous, when he turned sixteen. A man grown, she declared.

He never told anyone else. For as long as he remembered, Rhett had addressed him as _son_, and the title had made him feel wanted, proud. The experienced man of the world had given him paternal affection he had craved from a young age. And he thought that their relationship answered a deep, mutual need.

As a small boy growing up in the important port city of New Orleans, Dillon had dreamed of being a soldier for the Confederacy. He was a natural athlete with more energy than he could use – war would have provided an outlet for both. But he had come of age after the war was long over, and the first time he had seen a man killed in front of him, in a back-alley brawl that had started in a barroom, the bloody reality of the conflict he had been too young to fight in dawned upon him. While other young men who had been too young to fight in the war kept the memory of the Glorious Cause alive in stories and the occasional lynching, Dillon had turned to freelance journalism for the _Louisiana Democrat._

"I like writing," was his offhand explanation for the decision. It was a true statement; the schooling he had received had not been wasted.

The two young men reached the yellow brick depot shortly after eleven in the morning. The first of February, 1877.

Nat paused at the steps, not wishing to enter the depot alongside his white friend.

"Don't want no trouble," he muttered. "I's staying outside."

"Suit yourself," Dillon replied.

When he mounted Platform Two, he called out: "Rhett!"

The tall older man was wearing a dark blue leisure suit and a smart hat. His expression was one of extreme disapproval.

"I'm not deaf."

"You look like hell," Dillon offered.

Rhett squinted down at the young man's unshaven face. "You're no oil painting yourself." The years spent largely outside of his native Charleston had not lifted his heavy Low Country accent.

"That's what political reporting'll do to you," Dillon shrugged nonchalantly. "I was up all night. They're claiming that the Republicans are prepared to drop Reconstruction if Hayes wins out. Lots of change in store, if that happens. Still though. Lot of talk. Especially down this way. Politics have muddied the waters to the point where nothing is simple anymore. I actually thought you might be in Washington, when I got your wire..."

"No. Everywhere but. New York to Atlanta, and back to Charleston. My vacation to Jekyll Island was cut short before it began."

"Your brother have a place there?"

"He did. He's now deceased."

Dillon dropped his gaze. "I'm very sorry to hear that."

"Well, so am I."

The pair kept relative silence as they rejoined Nat, who hailed them a cab at Rhett's request.

The atmosphere in the crowded rig was strained, and when they reached the boardinghouse, Nat nearly fell over himself in an attempt to escape the tension between the two men.

"My humble abode," Dillon stole a quick look at Rhett and gave him a flash of a grin. A few minutes later, they were settled in the public parlor.

"Where did your darkie friend run off to?"

"You scared him. If you're hungry, I have some leftover beef and potatoes from last night -"

"Thank you, but no."

"How about a drink?"

Rhett nodded and followed him to the kitchen, where he poured two shots of whiskey.

"You need to compose a nice cover letter to my mother, to thank her for her invitation and to introduce yourself."

"Your mother? You've never mentioned her name and mine in the same sentence for as long as we've known each other – why would I need to send her a letter?"

"My mother has invited you for a visit."

"A visit? Your mother invited...me?"

"Yes."

"As if I don't have enough to do already. Between my job and my -"

"A freelance newspaper career is hardly a career. Besides, the muddy waters to which you alluded earlier are going to remain so for a month at least. You'll be back by then. And you will, of course, be compensated for your time."

Dillon poured himself another whiskey.

"I'm sure I don't understand. Your people wouldn't want me even if I _was_ actually your kin..." seeing the surprise on Rhett's face, he clarified. "Ma told me. The fellow you shot was the man who sired me. You were just good enough to look after what was left."

"There is more to the tale than that," Rhett looked faintly amused. "Your mother gave you the bare-bones version."

"Feel free to fill me in," Dillon spat, with not a little bitterness. "While you're at it, you can explain your presence here."

Rhett reached for the bottle and refilled his own glass.

"The situation has become very complicated up in Charleston. Ross is now deceased, as well as Hugh, his only surviving child. Since Rosemary has no interest in marriage, I'm now faced with the need to either produce offspring or offer an alternative candidate."

"I ain't even yours."

"Aren't," Rhett corrected automatically.

"You have a wife, don't you?"

"Oh yes. That's a whole different can of worms there. Wade Hampton is the oldest, and he'll be accompanying us as well."

"Why am I coming, again?"

"Because I want you there. Because I need you to provide a buffer. You mentioned my wife and I'll be frank with you – I want nothing to do with her. Wade Hampton I must deal with, as he will be my successor under the law, but Scarlett must be kept at bay. Your presence will force her good behavior, should she try anything."

"Anything...?"

"Anything. I'll take Wade to Charleston on the condition that she remain in Atlanta. When I dangle you in front of her, along with your adopted surname, I'll have some insurance that she'll do as I ask. Scarlett's nothing if not greedy. She'll want the Butler wealth for herself and her boy..."

Dillon was startled. "You...hate her."

"You will never know it when you meet her. I am the picture of husbandly devotion in public," Rhett said with a complete lack of conviction.

"Surely she doesn't need me around to do as you say – you're her husband, aren't you?"

Rhett looked as if he was experiencing a distasteful mental image. "An unfortunate circumstance. She'd do anything to cross me. She already has, at every turn. And arguing with her just makes her more stubborn."

Dillon set his drink down carefully. "How much compensation are we talking?"

"Five thousand."

The young man's eyes danced. That was more money than he had ever seen.

"You're serious?"

"I am."

"Then I'll come with you. But I want the money up front."

"Quite wise," Rhett said. "You always have had good sense. Now go to your paper and put in your leave of absence for the month. I want to be on the three o'clock train out of here and in Atlanta by tonight."

Rhett's lips tightened imperceptibly. "You should take your friend Nat. A gentleman your age in Charleston would have a manservant."

"He's... a friend."

"He can be paid as well."

With that, Rhett left the room, leaving Dillon alone, staring down at the long fingered hands, clasping his empty glass like a lifeline.

Rhett had dedicated a good deal of time to fetching him personally; and had offered a great deal of compensation for only his cooperation. But what was it all for?


	3. Green Shamrock Shore

3. Green Shamrock Shore

Signposts from Jonesboro through Clayton County were notorious for their unreliability. Much of the County was all but deserted. Post-war, employment was scarce, and many of the young men left from the ravaged ranks of the Confederate army chose to abandon their old homesteads, opting instead for a train to the hated North, which promised at the least certain prospects of work.

Scarlett O'Hara Butler would need no signposts to direct her home from anywhere in the County. The way was imprinted in her very bones. By the time she turned her horse down the country lane headed off the main road, dusk was falling, and the sky was a sullen scarlet. Young trees lined either side of the laneway, which after about a hundred yards led to a substantial white-washed farmhouse flanked by two newly built barns and several small outbuildings.

"Red sky at night, farmer's delight," Scarlett muttered to herself, her tired brain echoing one of her late father's favorite sayings. Night was drawing in. She drew in a breath, then moved her lips in an old song, willing Gerald O'Hara to appear by her side, if only to give her some small bit of comfort.

_For I'm leaving behind the one I love  
on Paddy's green shamrock shore. _

"Don't give into it," she willed herself to hold back the tears that were forming at her eyes. "Think about it tomorrow."

Tomorrow seemed so very far away.

"_Scarlett_!"

One step, two. She was moving again, down the long avenue and to the house. She hurled herself from the horse with all the precision of the accomplished rider she was – a talent long forgotten but rediscovered during the summer previous, when she had fled to the County for several months to escape something – or someone. Lights had already been lit for the evening in the parlor, which was located to the left of the entry hall. To the right of the front door, an old grandfather clock ticked away the minutes; and a coat rack held an assortment of winter coats belonging to Will and the boys – and Wade. Her heart clenched in her chest.

She brushed past the ancient figure of Mammy, snoring softly in a favorite armchair, and took the stairs two and three at a time. Racing to her room, she flung open the door and threw herself on the mattress, taking in the smell of dusty feathers and sun-bleached linen.

A woman said from the doorway, "Scarlett! Isn't it enough that you take out at the crack of dawn on your own – it's nearly nightfall! I had no idea where you'd gone and I've been worried sick!"

"You've never been worried for me for a day in your life, Suellen."

"That's as much as you know. But as long as I have you here, I'll ask again. What happened in Atlanta yesterday? What made you fly down here without so much as a by-your-leave and then you disappear all day today, alone, unescorted? You do realize how it looks, don't you?"

"I can't talk about it. Not yet."

"You _owe_ Will and I an explanation."

Reluctantly, she dragged out the words that made it all real again. "Rhett came to take Wade yesterday. To Charleston. A great opportunity for him, he said. And so I thought. But he brought..." her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "His _son_."

She closed her eyes for a moment, and Suellen swayed where she stood.

"He wouldn't -"

"He did."

Suellen put out a hand to her sister, which Scarlett quickly brushed away. "I'm all right," she insisted.

Suellen sat down on the bed. Following Scarlett up the steps at breakneck speed had left her winded. "He wouldn't dare – the boy – if he is a boy – won't be welcomed in Charleston. Not among decent people, at least."

"And Wade will be?" rasped Scarlett.

"It's not Atlanta; you've done nothing wrong – and Aunties won't let them talk about us, surely!" Suellen said emphatically.

"India Wilkes has been living there for two years. I imagine that Rhett and I are the talk of the town with or without Auntie Pauline or Eulalie around."

"Mrs. Butler wouldn't allow it!"

"Mrs. Butler wouldn't do a damn thing to stop it if it meant protecting her precious _Rhett_." Scarlett spat, furious now. "She kept the boy a secret, didn't she? I knew it of course. Back when Ella was born and everyone else said that he had a sweetheart in New Orleans. Well he told me the truth – that he was visiting a little boy. And then taking us there for our honeymoon. Making business deals my foot! He wanted to see his boy! God damn him!"

She threw her face back into the pillows. Suellen waited a few seconds while the loud wails came, then put a gentle hand on Scarlett's back.

"So, you let him take Wade?"

"What choice did I have? I was hurt that he would bring that _creature's _son into my house. Bonnie's house..." came a choked cry. "What was worse was – Wade _wanted_ to go."

"Ah." Tremors of outrage ran through Suellen's body. Her sister and she had never seen eye to eye, but before God, Scarlett loved her children with every fiber of her being. Suellen understood that, at the least, and the sight of Scarlett at her most vulnerable tore at her heart. The mother in her longed to take her sister in her arms and comfort her, despite the fact that theirs had never been that sort of relationship. Her rumpled raven hair was the same hue that it had been when she was a girl, although much of her nature had changed, rendering her almost unrecognizable as the belle of the County who had delighted in stealing other girls' beaux, Suellen's own included.

Scarlett tilted her head upward to meet Suellen's eyes. Wide-set emerald eyes, striking as in her youth, a strong jaw-line, gifted by their father – and sharply etched lines that made her appear older than her thirty-three years.

The crying had ceased – and her sister looked dangerous.

In those eyes flashed daggers.

"Where are you going now?" Suellen wanted to know. "What are you going to do?"

"Go up to Charleston. I've only just figured it out – Rhett brought that boy to hurt me, to make me give Wade to him. He gambled and he's going to lose. His mother has no idea that that boy belongs to Rhett and I'm going to let her know!"

"Not now, surely. You're still in shock over it all. You need to think it over. Think of how it reflects on you, on Wade – on _us_!"

"I don't care, Sue. Rhett has brought me as low as I can possibly go. Well, he's not going to turn my boy against me."

"What are you going to do with Ella?"

"Take her with me."

"No. At least leave her here with us. She's nothing to be proud of – she's not a pretty child like my Susie or your Bon –"

"I'm taking Ella. She and Wade are all I have that Rhett can't take from me."

"Rhett can do as he pleases. He is your husband."

"They aren't his children. And I mean to tell him that! He can do what he likes with his family's money when he dies – he can hang himself from his mother's chandelier for all I care. Wade doesn't need to have a penny of it and neither do I. Bring that boy into my house will he?! Well, I'll bring divorce papers into his mothers'!"

"Oh Christ Scarlett!"

"Think I won't? I have them, too. Oh yes, I kept them from the last time he offered. Remember?"

_I should have known,_ thought Suellen. _Divorce. That's why she's in such a hurry to get to Charleston, because she knows that deep down, Rhett will never agree to it, and the fact that such papers exist would kill his mother and Scarlett knows it._

Scarlett and Rhett's relationship had always been a puzzle to Suellen and her husband Will. They were both reckless and shrewd with money, clearly. Fiery tempers, both. In a single day spent together, either one might demonstrate a range of emotions – infectious laughter to brooding melancholy and back again. Maturity had taught Scarlett to keep a lid on the most extreme of her emotions – and Will was of the opinion that the trips out to Tara provided an outlet for the feelings of abject helplessness at her situation. A few too many glasses of brandy could give voice to the griefs in Scarlett's heart, and even when her actions enraged Suellen, she at least understood that she had it a lot better than Scarlett did.

After all, Rhett had abandoned her sister, aside from the occasional public appearance. Instead of returning to the safety and relative obscurity of the County, Scarlett had stayed in Atlanta and attempted to rebuild her shattered reputation for the sake of her two children, if nothing else. In her desperation to make Rhett love her, he had mercilessly exploited her attempts at goodwill. At last, angry and disillusioned, she all but caved in to signing the divorce papers he claimed to have sent "by mistake". At the last minute, he had made a trip to Atlanta, offering a truce for the good of the children. But Scarlett had kept those papers.

Good for her, Suellen thought wryly. Divorce was illegal in South Carolina and the very thought of an upstanding man threatening his wife with such a scandal would be devastating for a man who was, by all accounts, desperate to reclaim his good reputation.

Her poor sister. Headstrong and egocentric, Scarlett was far from the model wife and mother that their mother Ellen had attempted mold both of them into – and in his heart of hearts, Rhett Butler was nothing if not a traditional man. Her sister was the rebellious one.

"Scarlett, you know as well as I do that Rhett won't take this lying down. You won't get away with exposing him for what he is in front of his people and walk away. Not with something as serious as divorce. You'll pay. And he'll be able to take everything from you."

Scarlett shivered. "Not my pride. I've still got that. And Tara."

"Sue? You up there?" her husband's voice called from the floor below.

Suellen stood up and peered out into the hallway. "Yes, and Scarlett's with me."

"I figured," Will replied. "Come on down, both of you."

In his quiet, unassuming tone, Will managed to exude more authority over the two sisters than any other men in their acquaintance, and they did as he requested. Sue gave him a dutiful peck on the cheek as she reached the foot of the stairs.

"Scarlett, you look like the backside of hell," he said matter-of-factly.

Scarlett sighed. "I can only imagine."

"The Fontaine's said they seen you ride by. Like the Devil himself, says ole Alex. Takin' jumps like Old Man O'Hara would have."

"Scarlett!" Suellen snapped, appalled.

Scarlett shrugged.

"I wasn't worried about you." Will said nonchalantly. "I said, Scarlett'll work out what she needs worked out. Scarlett knows more 'bout life in the real world than most men, I reckon."

"I'm leaving tomorrow, for Charleston, and I expect to be back here within the week. Rhett is... Rhett has..." She couldn't make herself repeat the story for Will, but she could feel Suellen's hand on her back.

He dropped his gaze to the dirt and grass stains on her once immaculate ivory riding habit. "You might want to change out of that first."

Scarlett rolled her eyes. "Well of course I will – " She then tossed her hair in what Suellen thought was a theatrically angry gesture.

Scarlett was trembling, indeed, with emotion that she would never allow her sister and brother-in-law to see. She retreated quickly up the stairs and to her room, pausing only to glance at her reflection in a hallway mirror.

The results disappointed her. The once belle of the County still possessed a striking face – although not beautiful by any means. _If things had been different I might have been with Rhett right now. We might have had another baby. Why does he hate me so? _Silently Scarlett interrogated the image in the mirror.

Finding no answers, she went into the room next to hers, that Ella was sharing with Susie, Suellen's daughter. The two were too deeply engaged in Ella's collection of dolls to notice her standing in the doorway. More disappointment awaited her. Beneath heavy dark brows, Ella's blue eyes faded, and her gingery curls she had inherited from her father Frank Kennedy ruined any chance of beauty she might have had as an adult. Susie's coloring, of course, was peaches-and-cream; she was the very best of both Will and Suellen. Their boys, William and Clayton, were both short and burly and dark-headed, a legacy from their grandfather O'Hara. Wade was the opposite, tall and slender and soft-spoken; much alike his father, Charles Hamilton. Melanie's brother. Dear, sweet Melly.

Scarlett was overtaken by a gut wrenching pain in her chest. She attempted to pray to that loving, omnipotent God of her Catholic childhood. What was a persuasive prayer?

She could think of none. She would have to take care of it herself, tomorrow – even if that meant severing ties with Rhett for good and all.

_Many ships have been lost, many lives it cost  
on the journey that lies before  
With a tear in my eye I'm bidding good-bye  
to Paddy's Green shamrock shore _


	4. Banks of the Ashley

4. Banks of the Ashley

In the parlor Rosemary Butler went from window to window, watching for movement and listening for the clomping of horses' hooves.

She had spent hours rearranging the house to reflect her own taste – and the new slipcovers and curtains certainly brightened the room, formerly her mother's domain. Her poor small, wispy mother had taken something that her physician had prescribed for her nerves and planted herself in the most comfortable chair in the parlor as she did every night, reading the society pages from back to front – starting with the obituaries. Cheerful, Rosemary thought. There was no point in trying to converse with her mother.

Nor was she in the mood to greet two teenaged boys. The anger that had been building up in her since Ross's funeral and Rhett had stated his intention to bring both Belle Watling's boy and Scarlett's son back with him was in direct proportion to her fears about his ability to cope with the situation at hand, as it was. Her worry had reached a fever pitch the day he had been due in Atlanta, terrified that Scarlett would be laying in wait like the venomous spider she was, ready to pounce on her poor brother in a weak moment. She paused long enough to glance at her reflection in the mirror above the mantlepiece. The mirror revealed a striking face, a creamy complexion that was the envy of other Charleston women – _but not Scarlett_, she contemplated with not a hint of bitterness.

Rosemary sighed. _That's terribly shallow. Even Scarlett isn't thinking of such things. Not now._

When she heard the front door open she ran onto the stair landing. The voices of two men carried up to her.

"Are you not going to bring your things inside, Dillon?"

"Safe enough where they are. They'd be safe around here, I reckon, even if I left 'em on the porch."

"I wasn't talking about your bags. I meant the pistol. I saw it under the seat."

"What made you think you saw a pistol?"

The other voice snorted. "I saw it with my own two eyes."

That was enough for Rosemary.

"No one's bringing a gun into this house!" she shouted, charging into the front foyer.

The taller of the two shadowy figures turned abruptly and went outside, while the other bolted toward the door, only to be blocked by a third figure.

Rosemary was waiting for Rhett with her fists on her hips.

"Wade Hampton, say hello to my sister Rosemary."

The other one came back carrying a faded leather bag.

Rosemary eyed all three as if they were rattlesnakes.

"Try not to track mud on my floor, will you?" she flashed an angry red.

Rhett assumed a lazy, heavy-lidded smile, screening his eyes with his lashes. "I'm only going to say this once, Rosemary, and that's it, full stop."

_How dare he_, her mind protested, _bringing Scarlett's son and that Belle's as well!_

Try as she might, Rosemary could not guess which one was which. One was taller than the other, perhaps one was more youthful – unaware that her eyes were appraising them from head to toe, one of them spoke: "Hello Aunt Rosemary."

She glanced up, and attempted an earnest smile as Rhett turned on the lights, illuminating the room.

"You must be Wade. My God, but you've grown."

Her eyes closed, recalling Wade at twelve – the last time she had seen him – or Scarlett, for that matter.

_Dressed in the latest fashion, Scarlett and her children had arrived at the Landing in the morning. Her tightly curled black hair mirrored the sturdy corsetry of her lavender colored gown – designed to render her waist impossibly small. What was it, eighteen inches? Less?_

_Her mother had remarked that with the passage of time she could see more and more of Ellen Robillard in Scarlett, and that that fact did not make her any easier to like. "Her Irish father was much more pleasant," she had said. Although she did not physically resemble her elegant mother, she had many of her ways. Her quick light step, her perfectionism, and even her attention to social niceties. "Call Miss Rosemary by her name, Ella Lorena," she had snapped when the girl had referred to her as "her". _

_Her children were both on the smallish side. The girl, Ella, was thin and rabbity with a cap of ginger curls and fiercely blue-grey eyes. The boy, Wade, resembled the Hamiltons of Atlanta, to whom she knew his father had belonged. His hair was golden and his cheekbones jutting. Apparently neither child had known their natural father, and clearly there was an unspoken bond of affection between the two and her brother. What were they to think at a time like this, she thought to herself, when Rhett and Scarlett were barely speaking. _

_Rosemary rolled her eyes at the oversized cases, two small suitcases, six pairs of shoes, vanity case, and sixteen hat boxes. And that was just Scarlett's luggage. _

"_I hardly recognize you, Scarlett. Of course I haven't seen you since I was in Atlanta last."_

"_At Bonnie's funeral; I remember." Scarlett's tone was callous, cold. _

_Those initial few moments set the tone for Scarlett's entire visit. And Rosemary continued to find nothing but fault in her sister-in-law. Her opinion was absolutely incapable of change. _

_She brushed by her into the house. _

_Rhett responded to her rudeness with a devil-may-care grin, then said to Ross, "You have to laugh or you cry. That's life in my world. You too shattered to go for a ride?"_

"_Let's go," Ross replied. _

_Before Rhett could take another step, Scarlett stepped in front of him. "What about me?" she challenged._

_She fixed her emerald eyes on the three Butler siblings. _

_Rhett reached around her for his overcoat, which had been laying on a nearby coat tree. "I do not have to seek your permission, Mrs. Butler."_

"_But I thought we were..."_

"_Thought we were what, Scarlett?" he asked, putting on the coat. _

"_Well. You know..."_

"_I do not. And this is hardly the time."_

"_When is the time?"_

_Instead of answering her, Rhett laid a hand on Ross's shoulder and steered him out of the house._

_Rosemary's mother had stretched her hand out toward Scarlett, then hesitated, shook her head, and rejoined Rosemary at the edge of the hall. _

"_What about you, Mother? Do you not want to see their 'marriage' salvaged?"_

_Her mother cast one long look at Scarlett's stony face, then turned away. "I suppose that I've seen enough."_

Wade at fifteen was still slight and slender, his shoulders drawn protectively forward. He put her to mind of a curious fawn staring at her with big brown eyes, unconsciously posing for a portrait. His close-cropped hair was the color of dark bronze.

"Yes, ma'am."

The other one was taller and broader around the shoulders, more a man than boy.

"And you're – "

"Dillon, ma'am."

Try as she might, she saw none of Rhett in him. Dillon. Jasper Dillon, perhaps. The man responsible for Rhett's disgrace and subsequent exile.

"Is Mother awake?" Rhett interrupted. He brushed past her into the hallway.

"No. She's been asleep for some time."

"Damn it," he growled.

"What is it?"

He handed her a crumbled telegram.

"This was waiting for me at the station."

_Leaving Jonesboro on the morning train for Charleston. Scarlett._

Far away in Georgia, birds were singing and bees were droning. It must be summer. Summer at Tara. Cookie would be gathering the honey, and if she and Suellen stopped squabbling for the next hour, they would be allowed to share the honeycomb.

Scarlett smiled in her sleep.

Suddenly, there came up a cold wind, disturbing her pretty dream.

"Go away! Leave me be!" she mumbled.

She was pulled away from the safe, fragrant kitchen, dragged into a tunnel of clouds where she soared and spun, helpless. She tumbled onto something solid, then opened her eyes. Her vision was completely obscured by haze – then it cleared.

"You can't have him! You can't have my boy, too!"

Suellen bent down. Only part of Scarlett's head was visible from under the covers.

"Wade. He's not...going...too..." she said incoherently.

"Wake up, Scarlett." Suellen straightened up, putting her hand gently on her sister's forehead. Her eyes opened immediately, and rolled toward her.

"Was I talking in my sleep again?"

Suellen nodded, then sighed. Her sister was not the woman she had always imagined her to be. In some ways she was more intelligent, in other ways less. A veneer of deceit which had concealed for years her own naivete.

Scarlett sighed. "Sometimes it feels like I'm stranded on a raft in the ocean. The sharks are circling and I'm helpless."

"Now don't talk like that. You're stronger than you were when you came here."

"That's as much as you know," Scarlett said dismissively. "Basically I'm still helpless. And Rhett's family hates me. Oh, they will attempt to hide it. His mother means well and his sister is far too smart to start a war, but not smart enough to know that I'm not an enemy. I just never bothered to get to know either of them because we were never alone together for any length of time. When they came to Atlanta for Bonnie's funeral. For Ross and Barbara's wedding."

Suellen pursed her lips. "Every time you mentioned Ross and his wife I heard something in your voice. You'd best tell me about them."

"Barbara was like Melly. Useful as a little pot."

"Tell me about her."

Scarlett gave her a searching look. "What else must I say? Her wedding was lovely. My time with Rhett was lovely because of her. And she's gone and I – I – "

"Melly's gone too, Scarlett. Don't forget that."

Scarlett was not listening. In her mind, she was already back in Charleston.

As the train carrying her and Ella chugged down the track, Scarlett was relieved to be leaving Suellen and Will and Tara and its troubles behind. Yet the sense of relief brought guilt as well, knowing what she was about to confront Rhett with, and in front of his family while they were still mourning the loss of his brother. _This is all Pa and Mother's fault_, she thought, _the curse of being Catholic. We suffer more guilt than any other emotion. I did everything I knew to do but there's no pleasing Rhett. It's not my fault. Not my fault. And if it is, I don't know what to do about it except what I'm already doing. But I won't let him have Wade. So help me God, I will not._

She closed her eyes, remembering the last night of her last trip to Charleston.

She had been in the guest bedroom, Rhett watching her make ready for dinner at her dressing table, brushing her long black hair. Mindlessly, he moved from the door and walked toward her. He put his hand on her shoulder. She felt the warmth of his hand on her skin and the ancient imperative.

_Three months had passed. She had returned to Tara, happy and alive._

"_Suellen, wake up. Something's wrong."_

_Suellen and Will both awoke from their deep sleep to find Scarlett standing at the foot of their bed._

"_What do you mean?" Suellen asked groggily. _

"_I have the most terrible pain. Help me, Sue! It's like labor pain only worse, so much worse! Help!"_

_By the time Will had supported her down the hall to her room, she was bleeding copiously all over the hallway. _

"_Did you know you were with child, Scarlett?" Suellen asked quietly._

"_No."_

"_So of course, Rhett did not know..."_

"_No. I don't think I would have told him...even if..."_

"_You've lost the baby, I'm afraid."_

"_I don't know what I did wrong!" she had cried to Suellen._

"_You did nothing wrong, Scarlett. It's just one of those things that happens, sometimes."_

"_But...but...life would be perfect if...Oh Rhett...I'm so, so sorry."_

_And Suellen had hugged her with all of the tenderness she possessed. _

And life had gone on for Scarlett. She was paler, thinner, but alright. Devoting herself to her work at Frank Kennedy's store, busy with the children, struggling. She did not let anyone see her attempts to regain her place in Atlanta society. It was like a secret vice, not unlike her affinity for alcohol, to be hidden from all eyes.

At night, she was the belle of the County again. Melly was alive. Bonnie was alive. And Rhett was with her.

Being awake was the nightmare.  
Her only escape was in her dreams, when she was with Melly and her mother and father and the future was an adventure yet to unfold.

And that night, she dreamt of Charleston – Rhett's beautiful home, nestled on the banks of the Ashley River. She stared down at the sleeping, coltish form of her daughter, her smooth, white long-fingered hands splayed out on her lap as she snoozed.

_The effort that went into making Ella's hands that way. Like a lady. Like Mother. What was it all for?_

She would see tomorrow, when she confronted Rhett himself. On the banks of the Ashley.


End file.
